


Repair

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [49]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Solar System, extra fluffy, tipsy Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>repair: verb; rih-PAIR: go to (a place), especially in company.</p><p>Middle English: from Old French repairer, from late Latin repatriare ‘return to one's country’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repair

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw this word pop up, I thought, 'how boring' but then I read the definition and thought how amazing language is, how one word, even with the same spelling can mean something completely different. :)

"Shall we repair to Baker Street, love?" Sherlock murmured.

John smiled at him. Sherlock rarely drank, and never in public for obvious reasons. He ate so infrequently that one glass of wine went straight to that remarkable brain of his and shut it down. All he knew for certain was that he was madly in love with the man who now gazed fondly at him.

"John? Why are you all fuzzy?"

"I'm not the fuzzy one, sweet. Let's walk home, yeah? Clear the cobwebs a bit?"

Sherlock nodded, pushed back his chair and stood slowly. "Whoooooa." John helped him into his coat, wrapped the blue scarf gently around his neck and kissed him softly on the nose.

John winked at Angelo, who was not so secretly pleased that he had been right about the two of them from the first time he met John. "Good night, boys."

"Night 'Lo," Sherlock whispered as he kissed him on the cheek.

They stepped into the brisk December night, arm and arm, and somehow, despite their height difference, Sherlock was leaning into John, head on his blogger's shoulder. He stared up at the clear night sky, and sighed. "I used to know them all. All the planets and moons... everything. I painted the galaxy on my ceiling..."

"How old were you?"

"Seven."

"Why did you delete it all?"

"Friv-o-louth, they called it, a waste of time, Mycroft said it didn't matter. I painted over it and deleted it and it didn't matter until now."

"Why does it matter now?"

"Because I have someone I could share it with now. Who wouldn't think it silly...oooooppth."

"Just hold on to me, love, almost home."


End file.
